Duke of Queensberry's running footmen. Such romantic dreams should come to
you. Sliding panels and gentlemen driving heiresses to Gretna Green, and
secret meeting places, and Fleet marriages and the scent of lavender, musk,
and bergamot!

But the song is nearly over and the curtains are drawn back.

The room might be a background to a picture by Zoffany, dim and mellow and
empty. There is a door leading to the passage; another that must lead to
the Beau's bedroom. There is a fireplace with a fire burning. A portrait of
the Woman of the World is over the fireplace. There is a dressing-table by
the fireplace, with a tall wig stand and a big arm-chair by it. There is
a bureau with writing materials. There are cupboards in the wall full of
clothes and stockings and shoes. The bedroom door is open.

Harlequin-Valet stands listening until the sound of the song dies away. He
has a clothes' brush in his hand. Then he places the clothes he has been
brushing on the Beau's chair in a ridiculous semblance of a man. He adds a
wig to the wig stand which is behind it, puts a patch on the wig block; a
cane to one sleeve, a snuff-box to the other; puts shoes to their place,
so that the stockings dangle into them, and then stands back to admire his
work. He bows low.

Columbine dances on with a feather brush in her hand. He takes her to the
clothes, and presents her to them with every formality. She curtseys.

ALICE. You see, she's a new maid, and he's pretending that that's her
master. Lord Eglantine ... Betty Richardson! It's rather wicked of them.

[Harlequin waves his clothes' brush, and the wig stand bows back. He